


Rewrite our Stars

by Eisengrave, selwyn



Series: Gifts from the Divine [HashiMada RP Collection] [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, but just know it exists, purely indulgent, this is the fixit verse, tobizu is sort of in the background, what if they made a lasting peace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 20:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30078171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisengrave/pseuds/Eisengrave, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selwyn/pseuds/selwyn
Summary: What if on that fateful day, Madara just took Hashirama's hand instead?[the fluffy, indulgent fix-it for the Founding Era we all deserve. It could have been so nice.]
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna
Series: Gifts from the Divine [HashiMada RP Collection] [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211912
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

The battle was going poorly for them. Madara couldn’t enjoy the battle with Hashirama when his awareness was split in half, distracted by the guttering flames of his kinsmen. At least Izuna was close – he could feel him burning bright, a hot star against his back, and that was good, they could still salvage this –

Izuna’s star flickered. A chill sliced into Madara’s heart.

He turned his back on Hashirama without hesitation, blocking the downward swing of his sword with his gunbai. His arm rattled but he barely felt the pain. His entire world had shrunk down to one point.

“Izuna!”

He ran for his brother, caught him before his knees gave out. Madara pulled him close, his heart shivering at the blood pouring out of his guts, out of his mouth.

Madara departed their half-hearted attempt at killing each other, and the reason for his rapid exit was painfully obvious. The stench of blood was always thick in the air of a battlefield, but Izuna’s held a sweet, bitter note to it. Madara’s own flesh and blood…and from the way his guts were sliding out of him, that blood wouldn’t flow for too much longer.

Tobirama had shown no mercy today. Not that he ever did, but here and now, it may have been a strike to offer opportunity.

Hashirama followed Madara to where he’d just draped his fatally injured brother against him. He held out his katana, facing the two Uchiha.

“Madara. You cannot win against me.”

Certainly not with Izuna strapped to him like this. The amount of blood, the limpness of his exhausted body…the younger of the two brothers was in a bad way. Tobirama had struck very true indeed. Hashirama cast a glance to him now, as he stood, somewhat in shock, behind Madara and Izuna. As if he didn’t believe what he’d done. How strange…Tobirama never shed an ounce of sympathy for his enemies. Perhaps today had marked an exception for them all.

Hashirama let the katana meet rock, impaling the ground as he offered his empty palm to Madara.

“Please. Let us put an end to this meaningless fighting. No one else has to die.” 

His offer was sudden. Unexpected. For some reason, Madara didn’t flee like he knew he should have. He felt rooted to the spot by Hashirama’s level gaze, compelled to stay and listen.

Peace…? He thought, unable to process his words. Even now, he still…?

“Anija, don’t trust them,” Izuna suddenly said. His voice was weak, wavering. Madara looked down at him, no matter how foolish it was to take his eyes off the enemy. It felt like he was in a trance, faced with two unavoidable choices that were clamoring at him to pick one, quickly.

Peace… he wanted peace… but, Izuna…

“Madara…!” Izuna’s voice gained new, pained urgency. Madara’s heart was racing.

They had to go. They had to, he had to save his brother’s life…

And yet, he still looked up at Hashirama, feeling as if he were being torn in half.

Izuna was a spiteful little creature, and had Hashirama been in a less precarious position, he would have found choice words for his influence on Madara.

But Izuna didn’t matter right now, only Madara did. He was wavering, waiting, and Hashirama knew that he was on the brink of a decision. What could he do, what could he say to make that decision lean in the right direction?

Hashirama’s eyes wandered over Izuna’s bleeding, limp form. How could someone be so close to death and still find the energy to interfere with the future that would affect them all. A future that Izuna was unlikely to even see, at the rate he was losing blood and chakra-

That was it. The golden opportunity that Hashirama didn’t know he’d been waiting for.

“What use is there in fighting, if you have nothing left to protect? Please, Madara. If you want your little brother to survive, make peace with me. He’s beyond anyone else’s healing, and you know that. He will die.”

People were shouting behind him. Madara couldn’t hear anything that they were saying.

“You… will heal Izuna?” he asked, tightening his grasp on his brother. Some of his blood was dripping on his clothes, seeping through his pants. He felt like the world was on the verge of cracking into irreplaceable halves.

“Anija, no –” Izuna began, but Madara barely heard him.

“I’ll only accept if you heal him now,” he said. His voice was steady even though he felt dangerously thin, as if the wind could blow him away.

Hashirama could barely believe his ears. 

Had…it worked? Had Madara just accepted a notion of making peace between their clans, just like that? 

Yes. Yes he had.

And it was all due to the dying young man propped up against him. Hashirama could savor the success later; he needed Izuna to live if this was going to bear fruit.

“I…yes. Get him on the ground. Gently.”

Hashirama watched for a moment, then knelt next to Izuna, who seemed distinctly about the possibility of a united future. He practically hissed when Hashirama held out a hand over him.

He squirmed too, unruly and wild, reminding Hashirama of an injured weasel, ready to tie itself into knots rather than be touched or captured.

“Hold him still.”

He grabbed his brother’s shoulders and forced him to look into his eyes. His Sharingan spun lazily, the black wheel of his Mangekyo slowly forming. “Enough, otouto,” Madara said, his chakra imposing his will over his brother’s mind. “This is for your sake.”

Izuna’s struggling grew weaker. Madara could have bludgeoned him into submission, but he tried his best to be gentle. For him.

“Just sleep,” Madara told him, his tone growing tender as he rested his head on his lap. He brushed his bangs back a little. “This will end soon.”

Once Hashirama began to heal him, Madara was fire again. “How bad is it?” he asked, his Mangekyo glowing from his soot-stained face.

“Critical.” Hashirama didn’t look over, trusting Madara to not be foolish enough to risk his brother’s life.

All around them, the Senju and Uchiha were gathering, weapons lowered, exhaustion thick across their faces. Hashirama knew he’d have to deal with a puzzled clan after this, but Izuna’s fading life was far more important right now. It had just become the most important life in the entire history of their clans.

Hashirama pressed his palms to his skin, right below where his mantle was cut open.

“He will need a lot of rest,” he muttered, concentrating hard enough for sweat to bead along his forehead and soak into his headband. 

Izuna would survive. He had to. Everything depended on it.

“Just heal him,” Madara said, watching his hands. Tense, breathless seconds ticked by as everyone watched the three of them. Madara waited with bated breath until Izuna’s breathing loosened up a little. As Hashirama slowly but surely healed him, Madara looked up.

“Hikaku,” he said, glancing at his now second-in-command now that Izuna was incapacitated, “gather everyone. Take no action until I’m done.”

Hikaku obeyed him immediately, clearly relieved to have something to do. The Uchiha began to be gathered up, warily eyeing the Senju as they did so. Madara scanned the crowd until he found a shock of white hair.

“Your brother did this to him,” Madara said, his voice low. Accusing.

“Madara,” Hashirama’s tone said everything his words didn’t. The chakra flow of his hands could not stop without risking Izuna’s rapid deterioration, but he always had that option if Madara proved uncooperative. What a terrible thought, to barter a young man’s life on a treaty…

But they’d done worse. To each other, to clans that were not the Senju or Uchiha. 

“Izuna would have not hesitated to do the same to him.”

Hashirama looked over to Toka, nodded towards Tobirama, who seemed frozen in his place. She would understand to take charge, or at least ensure his brother still had the presence of mind to control the Senju.

“But he’s not the one on the ground, is he?” Madara retorted. He stared at his brother’s pale, sweating face. Even a healer of Hashirama’s caliber was struggling to repair the damage of Tobirama’s blade… would the Uchiha iryo-nin have been able to do the same?

He didn’t want to think about. Just considering the possibilities made his stomach turn.

“Drop it. If you want Izuna to live, you will not hold a grudge against my little brother.” Hashirama warned, wiping over his face with one bloody hand. The worst of the wound was knitted together, and Izuna’s insides were no longer on a slippery descent into the outside world, but he’d still lost a lot of blood that needed to be replaced.

Hashirama adjusted his position, brought one hand above, one below the wound. The cleanly sliced skin began to touch edges together as Hashirama’s chakra pushed for gentle regeneration. The internal damage would take a few weeks, and he’d definitely have to open Izuna up again to check on the progress, but this would reduce the size of the cut. 

“I need to keep an eye on Izuna. He will need tending to by me.” And that meant a relocation to the Senju camp.

“…very well.” As soon as Hashirama released his brother, Madara picked him up. He remembered doing this often when they were kids – after Izuna got old enough to develop a pride, he stopped letting Madara carry him around.

He clutched him tightly, wound tighter than a spring. Part of him still wanted to run, to escape, and take his brother away from danger forever. But his clan was still waiting for orders.

“Return to camp,” he told them. “Izuna still needs care. I will go into the Senju camp with him. Kiku, Sakaki – with me.”

Two kunoichi broke off from the group and flanked him. Madara picked them because they were the best at stealth – if this went awry, they’d be the ones to send word back home.

“Do you need anything else?” Hikaku asked, eyeing the Senju all around them.

“…stay ready,” he said after a pause. “Wait for my word. And… and don’t engage any Senju.”

There were murmurs, but Hikaku only bowed, accepting his orders. Madara hefted his brother a little higher and walked on, rejoining Hashirama.

“Keep your clansmen away from mine,” he said. “Or this… peace… will be over before you know it.”

Hashirama would have his own hands full of an unhappy clan, but the exhaustion that had been present on the battlefield would allow for no one to act out. Their faith in Hashirama’s unwavering strength was absolute. They trusted him entirely. And if they did not, none of them were foolish enough to act on that instinct.

“I will keep them in line. We…we do this slowly.” Hashirama felt as if the world had finally taken a break from resting on his back. He felt light and bright, entirely at odds with the tension of having Madara accompany him to his home, deep within the forest no Uchiha would set foot in willingly.

The small sprout of hope had blossomed into full-blown optimism. They could make this work. _They had to._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Madara finally wears the headband.

“I think it looks great. Stop laughing.”

Hashirama didn’t know why it was so very amusing to Madara, but he endured. Mostly because Madara’s laugh was something like sweet music to his ears. even if it was in mockery of Hashirama’s headband. 

It was just a prototype he and the Senju armorer had come up with, a symbol to be worn by any shinobi of the village to signify their allegiance, their loyalty. They had to make a dent into the differences that kept all the clans apart, after all.

“You’re the one that came up with the leaf theme!”

“I didn’t expect you to do something so stupid with it,” Madara said, hiding his mockery poorly. “Do you really expect anyone to wear that thing?”

He tugged on the back of the thing, pulling the knot loose. The steel band over Hashirama’s forehead drooped over his eyes, prompting more laughter from Madara.

Hashirama grimaced beneath the impromptu blindfold. They definitely needed some way of making sure that it would not slip around so easily. 

“Of course I do. Here. Let me see what it looks like on someone else.” Hashirama reached up and undid the headband, looking at Madara expectantly. 

He held the headband up threateningly.

“What? No. I’m not putting that thing on.” Madara stepped away from him scornfully. “Uchiha don’t wear superficial things like that.”

They hadn’t been able to afford to, once – besides, it would look dreadful. But it was surreal too, to think that they reached such a point where they could argue over something as silly as a headband with a leaf stamped on it.

Madara plucked the thing out of Hashirama’s hand. “If I saw a shinobi wearing this, I’d call them little leaves. That’s hardly intimidating. Our enemies will laugh.”

“Good. Then they’ll be off-guard and easy to defeat. Come on, Madara,” Hashirama reached out for Madara’s shoulders instead, placing a hand on each and drawing him closer.

It felt good to have the freedom to do this, to argue over something as irrelevant as aesthetics. The world was a bright and shining place, when it was like this. 

Hashirama grinned.

“It’s your turn. Don’t think you can escape.”

“I didn’t agree to this at all,” Madara protested, but not in any meaningful way. Humor came easy to him now, when it was only the two of them and he had no image to project. He’d tried that, in the beginning, but Hashirama had disarmed him with a laugh and a promise, and he hadn’t looked back since.

He tossed the headband at Hashirama, grinning as he scrambled to catch it.

“You put it on for me then. And tie it properly!”

“Fine.” Hashirama caught the headband with ease. Months of peaceful settlement establishment didn’t dull a lifetime of training. He could continue like this for eternity, to be perfectly honest; with Madara at his side, anything was possible. Having their relationship out in the open was a sweet bliss that Hashirama could not get enough of, even if he tried, which he did not.

He took some of the coarse mane in hand, pulling it back from Madara’s face. It was almost a creature in itself. Hashirama remembered a time when this hair smelled of blood and fire. Now, it still held the scent of a cooked breakfast and a little pipe smoke. He buried his nose in it for a moment, ignoring the way the ends poked his skin. Just for a moment though, then he continued with his initial task.

“It’ll look great, I already know that,” he muttered as he pulled the headband around Madara’s forehead, threading the band through his thick strands of hair and tying a firm knot at the back. Hashirama spun his friend towards the mirror, then leaned his head on Madara’s shoulder.

“See?” 

Madara peered at his reflection. The steel glinted delicately, the light catching on the edges of the stamped leaf. It was heavy, he noted, with a certain kind of solidity. It was a strange weight that he was unused to. A symbol of Konohagakure. A leaf for the forest.

Then he squinted harder and frowned.

“It looks terrible,” Madara declared. He pushed it higher so its weight wasn’t so heavy on his brows, but his hair got caught. It turned it all awkward, his bangs sticking up and out.

“I’m not wearing this.” He looked foolish, he thought. Somehow childish, wearing this symbol of their dream in such a blatant way.

“Madara, you have to! If you don’t, there’s no reason to ask anyone else to.”

Hashirama tugged some of the rebellious strands away. Madara did bear an uncanny resemblance to a less than pleased porcupine, but the headband looked good. Better than good. Hashirama’s expression melted into nothing but pure affection. They were more than lucky to have made it to this new, better age that they were shaping with their own hands. Together.

“It’s our dream. It’s really…real.” 

“I’m not going to wear this silly thing just because you’d like me to,” Madara retorted, but it was half-hearted. He turned and he saw the naked adoration on Hashirama’s face, so overpowering that it made him stutter in place. He had one hand on the knot behind his head, ready to pull it free, but he hesitated.

This was their dream. Their stupid, foolish, silly dream, something naive enough to escape the bitter cynicism of their fathers’ era. And though Madara still felt incredibly moronic like this, his hair uneven and the band threatening to slip down again, he somehow found it in himself to smile without embarrassment.

“It is,” he confirmed. He let the thing stay on and he tilted his head to the side, pressing his head against Hashirama’s. “Well… it doesn’t look that bad,” he conceded after a small pause. “It’s not as ugly as your hat.”

“I don’t know why you hate my hat so much. It makes me look dignified.” Hashirama chuckled, gazing at the mirror at the two of them. Who would have thought that two idiot boys at a river could change the entire world around them, by determination alone?

He rested their heads together, eyes closing again. It felt so good to be with Madara, like this, no battle, no grudge, no war. It was like a dream and he was never waking up.

“It makes you look like a farmer,” Madara laughed. He turned his face again and brushed his lips against the ridge of Hashirama’s brow. He no longer felt like a criminal when bestowing him with this easy kind of affection, but the thrill of it remained the same. He had Hashirama, wholly and totally. This was their dream and they were equals, standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

“The esteemed Hokage-sama should dress more impressively. That bed sheet hides too much.”

“They’re dignified robes. Tobirama said I shouldn’t dress like I usually do, and I agree.” Hashirama didn’t love the robes either, they made him look a hundred years old, easily.

“Otherwise, how will anyone recognize the esteemed Hokage-sama?”

“The esteemed Hokage-sama’s partner will recognize him very easily,” Madara said, running his hand down his side. He squeezed his hip. “I wouldn’t even need my eyes. Just my hands.”

Just as he was about to kiss Hashirama properly, the headband finally gave up the ghost and fell over his eyes. He grumbled as he reached up to undo the knot, his scalp twinging as his hair got caught in the cloth.

“I hate it,” he said, scowling. “Take it off before I rip this thing out.”

“Fine, you have indulged me long enough.”Hashirama reached up and undid the knots that had formed between the headband and Madara’s hair. He treated each strand carefully, though Madara wouldn’t look any different if you took handfuls of his hair and ripped it out.

“I want you to wear this when we meet new clans. If I have to wear my hat, you have to wear this headband. We must present a united front, hm?”

“For you? Alright.”

He still thought it was silly, but it was also nice, to think of them presenting a united front. Not just two separate clans who laid down their arms, but something greater than that. More than an alliance, more than a partnership. Unity under one banner.

Madara touched the little leaf, and smiled a little. “I guess this is better than that hat of yours. But I can’t be the only one wearing it. There should be more. For every shinobi of Konoha, to show that we are all one.”

For Madara’s smile, Hashirama would cleave mountains in half. It was so precious he wanted to stare, but he kept himself and his unruly heart contained.

Madara was at his side. This was real. He didn’t have to treasure every precious moment as a memory that might never be repeated again. A difficult concept to grasp, especially after the last ten years between them.

“I can live with that arrangement. Everyone should be proud to live here, to belong here. This is our home now.”

“Our village,” Madara confirmed. He tossed the headband up, then pocketed it. “I think I’ll keep this one,” he said. “The first hitai-ate made for our village.”

They were neglecting their duties, running away together like this, but Madara couldn’t bring himself to care. Madara curled their fingers together and relaxed, satisfied to just enjoy the clean air in this part of the village.

Their duties could wait. Hashirama had spent two weeks doing nothing but shaking hands and signing papers. He’d missed his time with Madara, even though there’d been no shortage of his company.

“There’s something else I was thinking about. But I have to show you. Will you come with me?” Hashirama offered Madara his hand.

He didn’t care if he was being hasty. This one thing, it was his to decide alone. It would carry consequences, of course, but he was prepared to deal with them.

“Mm? What for?” Madara took Hashirama’s hand curiously.

He wasn’t quite sure where Hashirama was guiding the two of them, but he was willing to humor him. Anything to win a little more time in peace, ignorant of what new problems awaited them in the office.

“What is this for, Hashirama?”

“You’ll see.”

The office was the last place Hashirama wanted to go to. No, he had a more personal sort of mission now. Tobirama could hold on for another hour or so.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen this place,” It wasn’t difficult to pick their path through the forest. The trees, as always, whispered secrets to Hashirama. Today, he’d be content to let them as he wandered, hand in hand with Madara, out of their little village.

“It hasn’t changed much.”

They emerged at the riverbank, just a little south of where they’d first met.

“The Nakano.” Madara’s smile widened as he nudged Hashirama. “You sap.”

The Nakano was still the exact same as it had been, a wide green ribbon hemmed in by drooping trees on its silty banks. Madara kicked a few of the pebbles on its rocky shore as he observed the plodding water sluggishly coarse towards the massive river delta on the border between Water and Fire.

“Skipping rocks now would be a little juvenile at our age, mm?” he asked him. Despite his words, he still picked up a small, flat rock and threw it. It skipped three time before it disappeared into the soft green woods on the other side.

“Hm. Still got it.”

“Still not my rock skipping equal, I see.” 

Hashirama bent down to pick up a smooth pebble, weighing it in his hand before throwing it to skip along the water’s surface. It kept going on the other side, blowing a hole through a tree, a second tree, and a small boulder.

He couldn’t do anything but laugh for a moment, utterly delighted to be standing here with Madara, on the same shore, sharing their life and dream. It was more than the young boys who once played here could have imagined.

“I wish I could tell those boys that their future would be as glorious as they pictured it to be.”

Madara scoffed and pinched Hashirama’s side. “Show off.”

His laugh startled him, but after a moment, he joined in. “I think they figured it out eventually,” he said, grinning. “Or, well, one of them figured it out and dragged the other one along with him. Still not sure if I agreed to that, by the way. A lifetime with you is a long time.”

“A lifetime…have I sworn you to that, yet?” Hashirama knew he had not, but it was a good idea. It sounded good. It felt good. Madara at his side, for the rest of their lives.

He was laughing again. Madara sounded…wonderful. Hashirama felt soft as a kitten, as a newborn, being able to keep company like this and reflect on their terrible childhoods that had become the future they wanted.

“Maybe I should.”

“Do you need to?” Madara asked. “I’m not going anywhere. We settled this the day we made peace.” Fate had sealed them together that day. The force of one handshake had knotted their destinies into one. Madara didn’t regret, knew that Hashirama felt the same too.

“We’re stuck like this. And, you know, I…” Madara trailed off, conscious of how intimate this confession was, “I’ve also formally told my clan I won’t be taking any wives. Izuna and his children will be my heirs.” It’d always been an open secret before, but now it was official, made known to all Uchiha of proper age.

That piece of information was delicate and Hashirama appreciated hearing it. He knew what it meant, of course; that Madara was committed to him and he would not stray or be swayed by the duty of producing offspring.

It sealed his fate, incidentally, because Hashirama’s expression slid back into the sweet affection he’d shown him before.

“Then you are free to be marry me, are you not?”

It was a ludicrous idea, but who was going to stand in their way?

“Don’t be stupid,” Madara scoffed. “I’m not becoming a Senju.”

Senju Madara. It even sounded wrong. Though… Uchiha Hashirama… now that was an idea. Though he doubted it would ever come to pass – Tobirama’s apoplectic fit alone would stop Hashirama.

“So it’s just about the clan? You don’t have any objections otherwise?”

They could work something out. Hashirama had a younger brother too, and Tobirama was already lined up to be his heir for the Hokage position. Why not within the clan, as well? Once the village was stable, of course, not before.

But once it stood on its own and didn’t need Hashirama’s guiding hand anymore…couldn’t they finally carve a piece of life out for themselves and only themselves?

“I would make you mine, if you’d let me. Whenever it might be, Madara. Now, tomorrow, in a week or in a year.”

You mean…?”

It took a few seconds for Madara to realize that this wasn’t one of Hashirama’s jokes or nostalgic spiels. He was smiling, but he was also sincere, and that made him falter. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

This… this stupid Senju!

“You – Hashirama, you…!” He was speechless. He didn’t… he wasn’t… he wasn’t prepared. Madara felt an overwhelming desire to leap into the Nakano to escape his embarrassment. Who just casually said something like that? Just asking something so important…!

His cheeks burned. Madara whipped around to hide the color on his face. “Are you – are you really asking that?!” he hissed.

“Of course I am. Why else would I say it?” Did Madara not understand, or was he simply too embarrassed to handle it? Hashirama could see the flush in his cheeks and it was entire subject in itself, the way this powerful shinobi flushed a deep red at the mere idea of solidifying the love that had grown between them since they were young.

“I’m asking you to marry me, Madara. Because I love you and that’s all that matters.”

Just in case it wasn’t clear.

Who just said things like that?! With – with that kind of straight face, blatantly honest, just so open about it…!

Madara felt his head grow hotter. He was going to burst into flames at this rate. He began to seriously consider fleeing into the water. Better to make a fool of himself by dunking his head in than to be heard stumbling over his own damn words.

“Hashirama, you – you can’t just – !” Unable to speak, Madara began to stomp away. This whole thing – it’d been a trap! He didn’t have time to prepare himself and now Hashirama had him metaphorically pinned, barely able to speak from sheer mortification. He could feel his brain cooking inside his skull, he was so red.

Madara looked like a walking tomato. It was both adorable and concerning. Hashirama took his hands into his, turned to face him as he peered at him.

“You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. But I want you to be aware of my intentions. I will not take any wife, I will only have you. At a time when our clans are in good hands, and the village is ready to thrive on its own. We can live on our own, just the two of us. I’d like that, a lot. And then, you and I really can spend the rest of our lives together. Just nod if you agree, hm?”

Madara was capable of fighting whole clans on his own. He was a fearsome warrior who knew little mercy. He’d seen battlefields littered with corpses.

But his heart… his heart was his weakness. He still felt with so much intensity that it could change his entire being.

And sometimes, all that meant was that he could be embarrassed very easily. Hashirama was the best at it, because he was so earnest that Madara couldn’t even be angry with him, only more and more embarrassed as he continued to say gentle, wonderful things with his gentle, wonderful mouth.

A future with just the two of them, knowing only peace and each other’s company… what a miraculous possibility. It seized his chest and constricted him until he was breathless, so Madara just nodded jerkily. But it wasn’t enough, so he finally muttered, “…I love you.”

At least for once, they understood each other. Hashirama couldn’t feel any lighter, his heart was ready to burst. All of this was only possible because of this one, marvelous man in front of him. This man who, under his wild hair and endless skill, was the sweetest, kindest soul he’d ever met.

Hashirama might be alone in that assessment, but it didn’t matter. As long as he was around to fold Madara into his arms.

“And I love you. Now, you probably want me to stop talking.” Else his head might just burst from a rush of blood. Hashirama put his lips to better use.

This part he knew. This was fine. Madara immediately pulled Hashirama closer, hooking his arm around his neck. It hadn’t been so idyllic in the beginning – their relationship had been stiff and unhappy even after the peace. But they were kindred souls in too many things to stay apart for long – with every cycle of the moon, they’d thawed out. Relearned how to be friends, how to share a space wherein they were not enemies.

What came after that had been new, but no less fascinating. A brave new world just for them – this vast territory of endless possibilities and unknown discoveries, built upon what they had. What they shared. A home where their love was.

Madara pushed his hand into Hashirama’s hair and smiled against his warm, rugged mouth. They’d spent ten years running away from this. Now, Madara wanted to spend another ten for every lost one running towards it instead.


	3. Chapter 3

“Long time no see, Senju-san. You have been very busy lately, no?”

The young girl in the corner playing the shamisen kept her head down to avoid eye contact. She played slowly and softly, the low ting-twang of the strings matching the equally sluggish evening. There were no guards in sight but the shadows were deeper than they should have been.

“Interesting times for us all. I never thought I would see the day that the Uchiha and the Senju clans declare a truce.”

Ise Sakinaga had been daimyo when Butsuma was clan head. Over ten years later, he still held onto his position. He idly fanned himself, not trying to hide his interest. A truce between two powerful clans was notable.

“You are not the only surprised by such a thing.” Hashirama never really liked visiting the daimyo’s court. There was a sense of danger here that lurked deeper than a blade in the night or a shinobi on the hunt. There were things here that no amount of physical power could protect him from.

A battlefield of words and secrets was not one Hashirama strode into with confidence.

The last time he recalled being here had been under his father’s orders, to receive a mission that the Senju clan was requested for, and one that undoubtedly was answered with the target hiring the Uchiha for protection.

How their alliance, still in its infancy, looked to the rest of the world concerned Hashirama.

“I trust you know why I am here.”

“You can’t think I would attack one of my most powerful clans just because they have buried the hatchet with their rival. That would be very hasty of me. I like to know where my feet are in the river before I move.”

It’d been six months since the truce was declared. Five months since the daimyo began gathering his forces. Tensions weren’t high. But they could be. The Senju were always closer to Ise than the Uchiha but no one was naive enough to call that loyalty. Shinobi had no masters. Only payments.

“The way the wind blows tells me that this isn’t a simple alliance to take down someone else. I must commend you, Senju-san. You sued for peace with the Uchiha for nearly seven years. You must have a hardy heart to have kept it up for so long with such a fearsome rival.”

This was approaching something personal if Hashirama didn’t steer their conversation elsewhere. He really wasn’t interested in discussing the particulars of his and Madara’s complicated relationship, let alone with someone who could and would use any inconsistencies or specks of trouble for his own advantage.

But it also wouldn’t do to be rude and demand a brisk end to their conversation.

“Peace between shinobi is a goal worth any measure of patience. We all share the desire to see our children grow safely.” That was a safe enough answer, and it was the truth. Well, the surface level of truth.

“We aim to bring more clans to the fold.” And create a unity of shinobi that would not have to bow and beg for work.

“An admirable goal. To want our children to grow up strong, to want safety for what is precious to us – that is the goal of all men. It’s a good spirit. But even the good things in life can find bad ends.”

Ise flicked his fan in the direction of the shamisen player. She stood up, her head still down, and bowed before quickly leaving. Once she closed the screen door behind her, Ise continued.

“I enjoy your honesty. So let me be honest as well. To me, a soldier who is only loyal to himself is a wild dog in human skin, one that will bite carelessly. A dangerous thing. For everyone’s safety, these dogs need to be put down.” Ise put his fan down. There were sweaty fingerprints in the paper. “Don’t let your good spirit turn you into a dog.”

Hashirama listened with his lips pressed into a thin, flat line. The daimyo had some nerve, likening him to a dog.

“Your dealings with my clan in the past may have given you a wrong impression of me, Ise-san,” he chose an honorific beneath Ise’s station for good reason; he was not standing before someone worthy of addressing with more respect than that.

“I’m informing you of my intentions as a courtesy, not an offer of fealty. Shinobi are not dogs; we serve no master.” Unlike the rabble of soldiers that guarded this very palace, trained and paid to give their lives for their lord. The entire system of nobility was something of an affront, but Hashirama didn’t share Madara’s fiery ambition to burn it all to the ground.

“I do not seek war with you.But if you do not accept Konohagakure and the system we propose, I will not hesitate to wage it upon you. I am very serious about this.”

Ise stared at him. Then his face broke out into a grin. It didn’t reach his narrow black eyes. “So the peacemaker does have fangs in his mouth. Forgive me, Senju-san – I wanted to know if your success dulled your sword. I see that it has not.”

This was the turning point. Ise knew it. The Senju in front of him knew it. There were rumors of other shinobi forces coming together all over the world, but none of them were like Konohagakure. They didn’t have men like Senju Hashirama. This conversation determined history. Peace or war? Where did the scales fall for this burgeoning new era?

“I’m glad that I’m talking to you and not the Uchiha. I dare say that the other half of your new village would’ve declared war on me outright if I called him a dog.” Ise tucked his hands into his sleeves. “That makes me wary, Senju-san. I like peace. I like the prosperity it brings me. But does everyone around you feel the same way? Snakes in the garden, I am afraid, do not make very good neighbors. I don’t want to wake up one morning with something sharp in my neck.”

Hashirama marginally relaxed when Ise actually showed him a facial expression without any guarded distance. It was easier to talk to the daimyo as a man than a lord who decided the prosperity of many lives. Hashirama didn’t want to serve the system in place, but he also didn’t want to overturn it and with it, the lives of thousands if not millions. 

If he could allow that system to make adjustments, then it too could see some change for the better in the future.

He breathed out deeply at the mention of the Uchiha. Known to be a little more…irrational, and no friends of the daimyo’s court. This was why Hashirama had come to speak with him alone, rather than to be escorted by his equal in rank. Madara had some choice commentary about the way the daimyo ran the country, that was a fact.

“Peace would be ideal, but my priority is peace among shinobi clans, first and foremost. Your neck and peace are not my concern. Nor is rebellion against your court. If you are understanding of our cause, there is no need for animosity. No matter which clan.”

“How cold. Didn’t my treasury finance your clan faithfully?” Ise shrugged, though, not really meaning it. Shinobi were not loyal animals. “Going to war with me is not a good idea. You might win. But the cost might be too high for such a young village to endure. Your clans will scatter and it will all go back to the way it was. But peace between us… now that’s a fine idea. The Land of Fire is a rich nation. There is room enough for everyone at the table, as long as the guests don’t get too excitable.”

Clans could not be loyal. But a village could be. Ise liked the thought of that.

“You see clans united under one banner. I see a nation united under one destiny. We could be good friends, Senju-san, friends who share the riches inside our borders. But only so long as you’ll keep the likes of Uchiha Madara at bay”.

“I understand your fear. It is justified.” Hashirama didn’t, not truly, because his fears were very limited circumstances that couldn’t be met easily. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t imagine how powerless a person must feel before shinobi. How insignificant and helpless before the likes of Madara and himself.

Whatever pride and composure kept the daimyo calm was misguided at best; he and his entire array of soldiers would be helpless to stop Madara alone.

But it was commendable and a testimony to Ise’s experience for him not to show any of the aforementioned fear.

“If you give no shinobi cause to feel like the country would be better off without a daimyo, you have nothing to fear. We can help each other, as we’ve done before. But you will meet us as equals and no less.”

“That works for me, Senju-san. I’m always happy to make friends wherever I go… as long as these friends feel the same.” A soft blur flittered into the room. It was one of the Twelve Guardian Flames, samurai with the skills of shinobi. He bent and whispered something to the daimyo.

Ise listened. His face stiffened before he quickly regained control. He slapped his fan into his palm. “But I think that discussion can wait, mm? My man tells me that there is a very angry Uchiha waiting for you in my palace. I think you should go do something about that before he burns everything down.”

A very angry Uchiha.

Well, there was only one man that suited that description. What Madara was doing here, though, Hashirama would have to find out for himself.

He dipped his head in a respectful nod towards Ise.

“If you will excuse me then.”

Two of the Twelve were hovering in a small wing of the palace when Hashirama arrived. They both looked up, their faces grim and wary. The taller one bowed.

“Senju-sama, the daimyo’s personal guard never has cause to insult you or your men. Any trespass we make is only put of ignorance on our parts and we’d gladly take the punishment -”

The screen door opened behind him with a slam. Both men flinched. Madara peered put of the dark room with a heavy scowl on. “You took your sweet time,” he snapped at them. “What are you waiting for? Get out!”

The two Guardians wavered until the force of his glower convinced them otherwise. The flickered put of sight, leaving them alone.

Madara leaned put and grabbed Hashirama’s hand to pull him inside. Once he closed the screen door, he grinned.

“These idiots always fall for it. You’d think they’d catch on by now.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Hashirama’s smile was small but genuine. Truth be told, he was glad to be out of Ise’s company. A war fought with words was not one he was sure to win.

Madara’s company relaxed him, almost immediately.

“Saved me from the daimyo just in time.”

“Your chakra signature was practically begging to be let out of there. I couldn’t resist.” Madara pulled him deeper into the room. He’d bullied his way into it, leaning on his reputation until the daimyo’s staff helplessly folded for him. It was probably one of the places that minor nobles stayed in when they went to the capital. It was comfy – well-furnished, airy, with the faintest smell of sandalwood from somewhere. Madara rather liked it.

“Ise’s being annoying as usual?” He laced their fingers together and stepped closer. The corner of Hashirama’s eyes always crinkled when he was overworked. Madara smoothed out their edges. “Disgusting little rat of a man. I should’ve killed him years ago.”

He smirked and kissed Hashirama’s cheek. “You’re working very hard.“

“It’s all for a good cause. Dreams don’t come true with no effort put in.” Hashirama would prefer if dreams could be a bit more accommodating of his strong distaste for politics, but that was probably asking for too much. At the very least, he had Madara with him here. If it weren’t for his support and company, Hashirama might just lose his mind with all the hidden agendas and heavy words.

The sight of his friend and lover’s gentle smile was balm for his overworked heart.

“Thank you…for coming with me. You didn’t have to, but you have my back. It takes a weight off.”

“I want to,” he said. He tugged Hashirama’s haori off and ran his hands over his shoulders. “That’s what I promised. And I like it. Being on the same side feels right.”

Madara kissed him again, this time on the other cheek. If it were up to him, they would’ve been marching on the capital months ago. But this new way, of making peace and shaking hands, was how Hashirama finally found him. So Madara wanted to do it his way. He wanted to see the world how Hashirama saw it, as a realm of vast and beautiful opportunities.

“Sit down.” He guided Hashirama until they were both seated with Hashirama leaned against Madara’s chest, both of them chuckling as they arranged their limbs together. Madara squeezed his arms, then reached for his shoulders. He dug his thumbs into the knotted tension there, his palms warm with chakra. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he murmured into his ear. “You know how Ise hates me? There’s a reason for that.”

They probably didn’t have time for this peaceful respite, but for Madara, Hashirama was willing to dispense with his formal duties. At least for a little while. He was allowed to breathe, was he not? Even as the newly appointed Hokage, he was still a man, and men grew tired.

Madara’s hands on his shoulders were a promise of bliss and the groan that escaped his lips was almost obscene. He didn’t realise just how tense he’d been until Madara dug his fingers in.

“Please tell me this is a good story. I could use one, and a cup of sake right now.”

“How lucky then -”

“- that I have both.” Another Madara appeared, one hand tucked in the fold of his yukata. He raised the bottle of sake he had. “Pilfered from the daimyo himself, I think he won’t mind it.”

The clone poured two cups, one for Hashirama and another for Madara. As it did, the original began to speak.

“I came to the capital a few times myself after missions went particularly well. This time, I was… twenty-three, I think. Young. I came here after being invited to some celebration or other. I didn’t think much of it. Went up with some of my cousins, got drunk, had fun. Then I went to my room. As I got in, there was -”

The clone Madara handed Hashirama his sake. It didn’t dispel itself, however. The clone curled his hands around his thighs and managed to steal a kiss before Madara kicked it into smoke.

“Tch. They always try that,” he muttered, glaring at the spot where the clone had been. “Hashirama, hide your face or something, you’re always distracting them.”

“They’re your clones. I don’t know why you get angry at your own behaviour.” Hashirama chuckled. He never minded the affectionate nature of Madara’s clones; they were adorable copies of the man he adored. Madara’s jealousy towards them was nothing but ridiculous, and yet, endearing at the same time.

The sake garnered more attention from him though as he took a deep sip. The smooth flavour was a blessing and a sign of high quality. Better than anything they had back home.

“Your story. What was in your room?”

“The daimyo’s fifth daughter. Naked as the day she was born. You can imagine my horror. I couldn’t throw her out, not when her father was my host, but I didn’t want some naked girl rolling on the floor. And I was very drunk.”

He worked out a particularly stubborn knot in Hashirama’s back, then kissed his neck. He smelled good. Madara inhaled deeply, sighing happily. 

“I think the man intended to use her as leverage. She’s the fifth girl so it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Alas, I was not in the market for a wife. I never thought I’d see someone actually get angry because I wouldn’t sleep with them. She asked me what was wrong with her, can you imagine?” He shook his head. 

“How was I supposed to answer that when I couldn’t even walk straight? I fell through at least seven screens finding my room. Threw up in the koi pond too, while trying to convince the girl to leave. She didn’t even leave.”

“You must have been a sight. And not in the way you usually are.” The story was bizarre enough to be true, and it did its job of making Hashirama laugh. He closed his eyes, relaxed as much as he could, trusting himself completely to Madara’s presence.

That poor girl. Even if Madara was sober, it would be a challenge and a half to seduce him. Especially for a woman.

“What did you do? Did she stay in your room?”

“I covered her in a blanket and ran away and in the morning, the guards found me in the garden covered in ashes. Turns out that I burned the east wing in my sleep.” Madara gave him a final squeeze before he was done. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching Hashirama. He ran his hands through his hair, humming tunelessly.

“Ise’s disliked me ever since then. Threatening to declare war on him four times over seven years probably didn’t help.”

He pulled Hashirama’s head back and kissed his forehead. “I hate that man, I do. I can’t believe you’re able to talk to him without wanting to rip his throat out. But I’m happy. And proud.” He pulled Hashirama until his weight was all leaned against him and wrapped his arms around his torso. He curled over him, suddenly fiercely protective of this man. He just wanted to pull Hashirama out of this miserable place already.

It felt good to have Madara’s approval, and even praise. Certainly a rarity, even now that they found themselves on one and the same side. A luxury that Hashirama would never grow tired of.

He closed his eyes, smiled, listened to the gentle affection in Madara’s voice. Few knew just how capable he was of it.

“We have achieved so much already, haven’t we?”

“We have. And we’ll do more. I believe in us. Our dream.”

The way he felt wasn’t unusual. Madara was slowly growing accustomed to it, even, the way his heart sometimes massively swelled whenever he looked at Hashirama. He called himself plain but he couldn’t see it. Light poured from Hashirama, out of every pore and from every smile, and Madara was hopelessly transfixed. He kissed him again, the intensity of his affection clogging up his senses until he was completely lost in it.

“To think we began as two little brats who couldn’t even tell each other our names.” He brushed his thumb over Hashirama’s collarbones, feeling softer than the clouds. “I can’t believe you’re the same Hashirama either. You were so lame back then, how did that become this?”

“What? You looked like a hedgehog and couldn’t even pee in front of me. How am I the lame one?” 

The thought alone! Out of the two goofy kids that played and trained together, he’d definitely been the less-weird of the two. Definitely. Madara just wanted to rile him up about his haircut back then.

“But you know, at least I knew how to get a haircut.”

“You were the one who watched me pee, you were the weird one. And we both have long hair, you have no high horse here!”

He wondered what his younger self would think if he saw them now, grown men and giggling over the past. Would that gloomy child be happy? Hopeful? Would that dark and narrow future open up just a little bit for him? Sometimes he wished he could go back and assure himself that it would get better one day.

“Don’t you like my hair?” Madara shook his head until his hair flopped onto Hashirama’s face. He’d just washed it so it was extra bristly and heavy. “You’re always pulling it, I thought you did.”

“I love your hair. I love every part of you, even if it hurts.” Hashirama couldn’t disguise the thick layer of affection in his voice, nor could he be less honest. Madara would scold him for it, surely, and Hashirama would smile through the scathing words and Madara’s fluster. It was just how they worked, and it was something dearly familiar from their childhood days. A little ribbing, a little teasing, an exchange of playful fits of temper…

It was a lovely counterweight to the strains of their busy lives.

“Don’t ever cut it. It makes you look like a wicked porcupine.”

“You’re disgusting.” Madara turned red despite his best efforts to school himself. He hid it by kissing Hashirama, grinning against his mouth. He sucked his bottom lip, nipped him teasingly, all while tracing circles over his bare chest, entranced by him. He’d been with Hashirama for too many years to count but his heart still thrilled when Hashirama was honest.

“If I’m a porcupine, then what are you? A little fern?”

“I think it’s blatantly obvious that I am tree. An oak…maybe a maple. I do love maples.” Hashirama took no offense, mostly because Madara’s bluster came with a kiss and that kept Hashirama plenty busy. He never tired of his friend and lover. Madara was his favourite company, and had been for years.

“I mean, you always compare parts of me to wood.”

“My favorite kind of wood.” He managed to keep a straight face for five whole seconds before cracking up. He pressed his face into his cheek, trembling with muffled laughter.

“It’s such – pff – it’s such an easy comparison to make,” he said, still chuckling. “I miss taking care of it. When are you letting me into the garden, mm?”

There were few instances where Hashirama might be a little embarrassed by the things he and Madara did. In the office, behind closed doors, in the dead of night, on most diplomatic journeys like these…

Or maybe it was just the way Madara had described his body. A garden. An exasperated sigh left Hashirama’s mouth.

“I fear the garden may wilt if I have to speak with Ise for another three days.”

He just wanted to nap at the thought of obstinate, circular discussion, with every word weighed and measured carefully. 

“How unfortunate. Whatever can I do to avoid that…?” Madara kissed the side of his neck. “There is actually a reason for why I’m here. Ise’s trying to negotiate peace with you. I think my presence will remind him why he needs this peace more than we need him. I’ll be the bad one, you can be the good one. No more circle talk.”

He cheekily began to tug Hashirama’s shirt off. “And if negotiations fail, then the two of us could flatten the capital before even one hair on a Konoha shinobi is harmed.”

Madara liked it best this way – war talks over nude bodies. The intimacy balanced the ugliness.

Hashirama had been happy to be passive about this process of disrobing, but now, he put a hand on Madara’s and a stop to what he was trying to do.

“That’s not an option. We didn’t create Konoha to make an enemy of everyone else. You know that.”

Madara was still set on that way of thinking, wasn’t he? That ‘us’ and ‘them’ mentality inherent to every shinobi clan. It tired Hashirama, not because he faulted Madara for it, but because it illustrated an antiquated way of thinking that Hashirama was trying to overcome.

“I am tired…would you forgive me if I just take a nap?” 

“Ah… alright.” He was a little disappointed but that was fine, Hashirama’s rest was more important. Madara withdrew. “I know you don’t want conflict but it’s not wrong to prepare for the worst. But whatever you decide, I will always support.”

He kissed Hashirama’s brow then leaned back. “And before you start worrying, no, I won’t declare war on Ise while you’re not looking. I believe in you.”

But if it came down to war, then he wouldn’t hesitate. Hashirama and their dream came before anything else. Madara would cut the whole world’s throat to preserve it. If that meant that he had to be the dark shadow behind Hashirama’s light, then so be it.

Hashirama wanted to keep Madara right there and he caught a thick strand of hair, gently tugging Madara to stay just like that, with a very tired Hokage using his lap as a pillow.

“You know that means the world to me, don’t you?” he almost hummed the words, eyes closed, fingers rubbing Madara’s hair between them. It was as strong and wild as his best friend’s temper, and Hashirama really didn’t want him to ever change it. His hair, or his personality.

“With you, I can do anything. Even endure talking with the daimyo and listening to his ridiculous demands. You’re my strength, you know?”

“And you’re mine. Nothing makes me happier.”

They were equals. He knew this intimately. They were the only ones who could exchange power like this and be completely sure that neither side would ever falter. The dark world was a little brighter when they could lean on each other.

“Sleep as long as you need. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“If you’re not, I’ll search Ise’s daughter’s room first.” Hashirama smiled as he adjusted his position a little and settled his breathing. He wanted to sleep for two days straight, really, but an hour in Madara’s company would do. There was no one he knew and trusted as deeply as Madara. Even Tobirama, but that was mostly because his little brother liked keeping secrets. 

Madara, however, was Hashirama’s home, hearth, his strength and happiness, all in one. Together, they were making the world spin the way they wanted, and doing so without shedding blood and wasting lives. That was worth every ounce of exhaustion.


	4. Chapter 4

It was finally ready. This time, it would work as he planned, and there’d be no hitch in the final growth. He’d tested, tweaked and improved the technique. Tobirama would be proud of his inventive spirit, if he knew about this jutsu. Well. Maybe. He’d be a little proud, and mostly skeptical about something that could not be used in combat.

But Hashirama had come up with a true innovation nonetheless, and today, on this very lazy, warm, summer afternoon, he was going to put it to use. All he needed was one willing subject in the form of his husband.

“Madara! You’re not busy, right? Great! Come with me. I need to talk to you, alone.”

“What? Are you slacking off again?” Madara demanded as he was dragged away. He’d foisted off his duties on Izuna for the day and he’d been looking forward to spending his time doing precisely nothing. Hashirama’s energy was cute, but it was getting in the way of lazing around.

“Actually, no, I am not. I have been very busy. Very productive. But you’ve been slacking off, laying around, smoking. And your little brother has to go deal with mine. Don’t you feel the slightest bit of guilt?”

He did not, just as Hashirama didn’t feel bad for letting Tobirama manage his position for the day. 

Hashirama tugged Madara’s arm, heading beyond the Senju compound, towards a grove of tree that Hashirama had grown right when he’d built the place.

“Your brother deserves it,” Madara retorted. A chance to relax, teach Izuna some lessons about maturity, and give Tobirama a hard time? Why, yes, he’d take three. He’d been enjoying laying around and smoking, so he was a little sullen that Hashirama was dragging him away from it. The next thing on his day plan had been feed cats, followed by pet cats, and now look where he was – being carted off somewhere like a sack of potatoes.

“You have too much energy,” he complained. “And yet when you have something important to do, you seem to be endlessly tired. Put all this to use in the office, how about that?”

“That office kills my spirit. I should just deal with all my affairs outside, maybe on the porch.” Hashirama dismissed the complaint with ease. He was excited, mostly because this experiment of his could fruit to be something wonderful if his predictions and tests were correct. Madara didn’t even know yet, and that was exciting too; to see how he’d react.

They reached the grove, and nothing here looked out of the ordinary, save for one particularly beautiful peach tree, covered in large, blooming blossoms.

“Besides, this is something important.”

He looked at the tree. It was a rather nice tree, sure, and the air was fragrant from its blossoms, but still… “A tree?” he asked dubiously. Nice or not, Hashirama knew he didn’t have his inclination for botany. 

Madara caught one of the slow-falling petals and rolled it between his fingers until it became pink pulp. He flicked it away.

“I’d ask if you were going to propose, but we’re already married.” Maybe it was supposed to represent something? But Madara couldn’t think of anything, unless – “You’re not going to carve a face into that, are you? Because if you are, I’m telling you don’t.”

“No, and I still think your face would look nice on the mountain. Even if it is a little stern at times.”

Hashirama smiled and there was nothing coy about it. He knew very well how little Madara had thought of the idea for him to be the stone-faced protector of the village.

And maybe he was procrastinating a little.

He stood close to the tree, reaching up to a branch that twisted itself in order to offer him a very large blossom with plump petals. Hashirama caressed it for a moment, back turned to Madara. Subtly, or at least, as subtly as he could, he slid his yukata to the side, revealing a little more shoulder than necessary. If he loosened his sash, it would probably just slide off of him anyway.

“I was hoping to spend some time alone with you, though.”

Madara blinked. He tracked the coquettish downward slide of his yukata and the way the tree curved around him invitingly. It was a nice picture. Attractive. Just a few years earlier, he’d have been half-naked by now.

But he was a married man now. He had Hashirama in his bed every night. They weren’t teenagers anymore, desperately fucking behind whatever shrub they could find.

“We have a perfectly nice bed,” he said, crossing his arms. “One that’s inside. With screens. Not…” He looked around. “…in your orchard.”

It was a lovely little place, granted, and they’d enjoyed more than one private conversation here, or just sat together in each other’s company. Perhaps messed around more often than they should. But. Specifically coming here? For that?

“Are you becoming an exhibitionist now? Should I be concerned?”

Hashirama straightened up almost immediately. Well that was a bust.

Damned be the comforts of their marriage. This used to be a sure-fire way for getting Madara’s attention in the right direction. Maybe he’d lost his allure after some years? Or maybe Madara’s insatiable appetite had finally waned…Whatever the reason, this wasn’t the right way to go about this.

Hashirama raised a hand to grow a bench under the tree, formed from the roots of the same wood. It almost cradled him as he sat down with a sigh.

“Alright. Please just come sit with me. I need to ask you something.”

At least Hashirama didn’t keep it up. Madara walked over and sat by him. He put his hand on his cheek and kissed his temple.

“I appreciate the attempt,” he said, smirking briefly. “We still can, once we’re inside. Now what is so important you needed to bring me here?”

“I love you,” Hashirama said it with the conviction of a river bursting a dam. There was no doubt in his mind that this man was the one he needed and wanted, that’s why they’d bound themselves together, that’s why they’d changed their world around them.

But this time, it was the final barrier to what Hashirama wanted. This time, he wasn’t so sure if Madara was right there with him or not.

“I want more than a village, Madara. I want a family with you.”

Madara never got tired of hearing him say that. He still got the same visceral pleasure out of it, a warm glow that flooded him to the brim. He leaned into Hashirama with a happy noise.

“I love you too,” he said, equally determined. He grabbed Hashirama’s hand and curled their fingers together loosely, some of his reluctance dislodged. Sure, they were married now but when had Madara ever minded getting a little banged up for some fun? He sensed no one nearby anyway, maybe Hashirama had been on the right track after all…

“A family?” he repeated, kissing his cheek this time. “I’m no good with children, anata… what even brought this on?”

“I’ve had an idea. And it could work, but I will need your help.” Hashirama held Madara’s hand, fingers idly stroking his skin. If his idea worked, it would be something incredible, and something others would only see as miraculous. It certainly hadn’t been done before, but who even knew if it was possible as planned?

“You and I could have a child. Together. Though it is…unconventional to say the least. If I infuse natural chakra, my, uh, flesh and your…well, a part of you.”

Madara had been feeling all kinds of things. Had been. Hard to hold onto all that after a bomb like that.

“What did you just say?” He pulled back from him, his brows furrowed. “What did you… what do you mean have a child?”

He’d been thinking adoption, which sounded like the sort of thing that was right up Hashirama’s alley. Growing flowers, spilling sunshine, clasping orphans to his bosom – that sort of thing. This wasn’t just out of left field, it was a punch from a blindspot.

“Well, there is another way. I have thought about this, thoroughly,” he really shouldn’t have, considering how many other things Hashirama should be tending to as the freshly elected Hokage. But he couldn’t help himself; every day with Madara was a gift he had not expected. Who could blame him for his idle fantasies.

“My flesh and yours can be united in a vessel.”

The peach tree rustled in the still air.

“What.”

Madara stared uncomprehendingly at Hashirama. Their flesh united in one vessel? Nature chakra? He felt like he was supposed to pick up the hints tat Hashirama was dropping, but he’d lost him around let’s have a family.

“Our… flesh…?” he echoed uncertainly.

“In a manner of speaking.” Hashirama expected Madara to understand what he meant, even if it was a vague description at best. But outright saying it felt wrong, like the timing wasn’t quite right. He’d wait.

Or at least, give Madara more hints.

“I grew this tree. It’s imbued with my chakra. Its roots have tasted my blood. Now all I need from you…” Hashirama’s hand landed on Madara’s thigh, a gesture that could not be described as subtle.

“Is a contribution.”

“A contribution.”

Madara looked down at the hand on his thigh. Looked back up at Hashirama’s earnest face. Back down, at his hand squeezing his thigh.

“Absolutely not.” He planted his hand on his face and pushed him away. “Keep your weird plant pornography to yourself. I’m going back to bed.”

“Madara,” Hashirama’s tone grew more desperate and he grasped at more of his husband in order to make him stay. It had taken long enough to get everything ready like this; he really didn’t want to think it was all in vain.

“Please? It doesn’t have to be unpleasant, I can help you.” He wanted to do this. But going against Madara’s consent was not something he was prepared to do.

“It’s not a big deal, just a little seed.”

He sputtered. “That’s not the point!”

How surreal was this day going to get? Madara didn’t fight hard to get away from Hashirama but he still held his ground. This was just… this was too much! It was weird and they’d never even seriously talked about children and what was that damn tree doing, it was curling up even closer –

“I’m not going to do… that… on your tree.” How would it even work? Was he supposed to… in the tree? Was there a hole? Oh god, was there a hole? “I can’t believe you’re making me even think about this. I’ve always asked you to use the Mokuton more and this is how you do it?”

“No, well, yes, I did do this, but there’s been other…nevermind. Listen, you don’t have to do anything to the tree. You can just let me do it, you won’t even notice anything. Will you trust me?” Hashirama knew when Madara was giving in, and it usually looked something like this.

Good. He was getting his way, slowly. That was more than he could ask for, already.

“Not really,” he huffed, crossing his arms. “And how do you even know if it works? And if it does, what are we supposed to do with a child?”

It wasn’t something to just walk into with a dream and a sneeze. Did Hashirama even realize how insane it was if it worked and they had to raise a newborn child? Madara never even held a baby before. It was probably going to die from disease or something, if they didn’t end up dropping it somewhere.

“I made a cat last week. And don’t worry, Madara, I know you’ll be a great father.” 

Hashirama had no doubt or concern about that part. Madara was kind, caring, sweet and thoughtful. He would cherish any child, especially his own. And if he could stand to be married to Hashirama, he could definitely stand raising a little sprout of their own.

“You don’t know that,” he protested. “None of us know that. You’re rushing into this.”

And to be the one telling Hashirama he was rushing into something… didn’t that make him think a little? They couldn’t raise a kid! Or, well, Hashirama probably could, he had the nurturing side down pat, but not Madara. Izuna notwithstanding, he had no experience with any child. He didn’t have the foggiest damn clue.

“I’m not some woman who wants to carry a brat around. You can barely manage being Hokage, how are you going to raise an infant?”

“I have absolute faith in you. And don’t worry, I’ll just take it with me to the office. I could use some company there that isn’t a stern face.” By which he meant his husband and of course, his other advisor, Tobirama. The two of them were the worst candidates for getting Hashirama through the day without chiding him for every little mistake along the way.

“I raised my little brothers, you looked after yours. Between us, we manage an entire village. I’m pretty sure we can handle one child of our own.” Hashirama plucked one of the fat blossoms from the peach tree and smiled brightly at Madara.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Right now?” he asked. He looked at the tree, then at Hashirama. At his dumbly sincere face.

“I don’t know about that…” he said, doubt coloring his voice. He’d barely wrapped his head around being a father and he hadn’t even begun on thinking about everything else this implied. How long had this been in the works? What would their child – their child! – look like? Whose clan would he be in?

There was just. A lot to process. And Hashirama wasn’t really helping.

“I need to sit down,” he muttered, throwing himself onto the grass.

Hashirama watched him for a moment, at least until he was settled on the ground. His smile didn’t wane. He knew he was at least halfway to convincing Madara of his idea.

It excited him to no end, and his patience drained right out of him. Madara was still hmming and hawing as if he couldn’t make up his mind. Hashirama would give him a little push.

He was on him the very next moment. Madara was fairly easy to push flat to the ground when he wasn’t prepared for Hashirama’s antics. They hadn’t been any type of wild for years, but this was a special moment, right?

Hashirama took Madara’s hands, kept them and his arms pinned as he kissed him soundly, ignoring the usual poke of those rebellious strands of hair.

“You do make me happy, you know that, right?”

Ah. Madara was intrigued despite himself. He let Hashirama pin him without a fight and kissed him back enthusiastically. Sure, he had his misgivings, but he wasn’t going to turn this down. No matter how long they were married, the intense magnetism between them was as strong as ever. Or maybe it was the other way around – the closer they became, the more Madara craved him.

“Yes,” he sighed when Hashirama backed off. Madara’s eyes were a little brighter after the kiss. “Let’s make a deal.”

He pushed his knee between Hashirama’s legs and slowly slid it up the inside of his thigh. “Convince me. Make it fun. And I’ll do it.”

If there was one way to Madara’s consent on practically any topic, it was this; a little force, a little push, a little physical dominance. It was a habit that Hashirama tried not to encourage, as it reminded him too staunchly of their olden days on endless battlefields, but right here and now, he would make use of it.

“Really? That’s how you want to…alright.” Hashirama decided that he better not put a foot in his own mouth and ruin his chances here and now. The ground churned a little to the left and right of Madara’s head and vines as thick as his arms took over for Hashirama’s hands as he sat back, Madara pressed down and at his disposal. 

They were alone anyway. This little grove was a spot of utter privacy. And still, Hashirama felt odd about using his mokuton like this.

He’d never really considered this position before, but placing his knees on either side of Madara’s hips was a good idea, Hashirama decided as he sat up a little. Throning on his husband like this was a familiar scene, but he was usually the one on his back.

“Fun, hm?”

Now he really had his attention. Madara pushed against the vines, testing their strength, and found that he couldn’t move an inch. He liked that. When he pushed harder and the vines tightened up reactively, he felt the first stirrings of arousal. He really liked that.

Hashirama didn’t like to play as forcefully as he did, so it was a treat when he was willing to try. Madara grunted as Hashirama straddled him. This was new. He liked it though. Hashirama on top of him was never a bad way to start anything.

He smirked. “Good start. Can you keep it up?”

“I wouldn’t start something I can’t finish. You know that.”

Madara was really coming around to this, not that Hashirama was surprised by that fact. His husband had a very particular sort of interest in the mokuton that Hashirama liked to ignore. 

Except in situations like these, when he really needed Madara to become pliant.

The vines tightened, one slithering over Madara’s neck to keep him still. Never let it be said that Hashirama did things by half-measure.

It was easy to slide out of the yukata, letting it fall away to the side.

“I see that I have your full attention now.” He moved a little, felt Madara’s hips beneath him. Yes, his husband was interested. As expected. It pleased him nonetheless. 

His eyes fluttered when he felt something constrict around his neck. It wasn’t tight enough to give him trouble breathing but it was solid and heavy. Immovable. Madara was putty in Hashirama’s hands now. He was willing to go along with anything he said if he could get to savor this.

He groaned when Hashirama stripped and moved against him. Madara always found him devastatingly handsome from any angle, but there was something special about looking up at him from the bottom. He wanted to touch the broadness of his shoulders and push his hands through his hair, and not being able to do the things he wanted to do made his breathing quicken even harder.

“You’re a tease,” he accused him around a pleased sigh. He pushed against Hashirama as much as he was able. He felt stifled in his clothes now, his cock straining against his pants. Once Hashirama started pressing the right buttons, it didn’t take much for Madara’s libido to catch up.

“Do forgive me, love,” Hashirama’s voice grew deep, raspy. He wasn’t left cold by the situation at all. Madara was always attractive to him, no matter what he did, wore or said. There was a reason he loved this man so much that he needed to have him in marriage, have him in his bed, by his side, at all times.

“I promise I won’t leave you disappointed.” But he didn’t do anything to rid Madara of his clothing. Not yet. Right now, Hashirama reveled in the feeling of sliding his backside against a cock that ached for him. Madara’s pants did nothing to conceal his eager participation. 

Hashirama didn’t often bother with teasing or much foreplay, but this was new and kind of exciting, so he was going to keep going. His hands landed on Madara’s chest, fingers curling in fabric as he closed his eyes, moving his hips to grind harder.

“But you are at my mercy.”

His breath stuttered in his throat. Madara twitched, trying to touch him, but the vines clamped down on him until he was forced to lay still as Hashirama rocked on top of him. It was maddening. He hungrily watched his yukata slip an inch further down his chest, revealing more of him. But he wanted more. He wanted to peel him out of his clothes and taste his skin all over again.

Madara hissed as Hashirama moved against him. It was just enough friction to excite. The problem was that it stopped there. Madara was a hungry man – a taste was never enough. He avidly watched Hashirama’s face. He usually was so distracted by his own pleasure that he completely missed out on what played across his face. Not this time though – he drank in the mild concentration knitting his brow, the tiniest hint of tension across the corner of his mouth.

“I am,” he said, smitten.

Madara glanced down. His stomach clenched tightly at what he saw. He could see the drape of fabric across Hashirama’s lap, the heavy bulge in it. Desire flashed through him and his mouth watered.

“You can do what you want,” he said. As long as Hashirama didn’t stop, Madara was his willing slave for this experiment.

“Some days I worry when you say things like that,” Hashirama cracked a little, slowed down, surveyed Madara with nothing but unadulterated love. All he wanted to do with this man was to cherish him for a life time, preserve his happiness, make him smile.

And Madara, in turn, asked such bizarre things of him…Hashirama could muse on it later. Right now, he had something to do, a husband to rile and an experiment to conclude.

Ridding Madara and himself of clothing was complicated but brief. The vines and roots held Madara tightly to the ground as Hashirama re-seated himself, a little too far up for anything other than to give Madara a beautiful view. He didn’t do this often, at least, not with himself in this position. It wasn’t about touching Madara, but giving him a show. Hashirama stroked himself leisurely, his husband rendered helpless to do anything about it.

Madara admired Hashirama for a lot of things His restraint, his compassion, his strength… all of these were things he adored in him.

But sometimes… sometimes he had to just look at him.

Hashirama had grown up big and raw-boned, all heavy muscle and large limbs. This was never more apparent than now, with Madara trapped under him with no way to get out. He wanted to reach out and touch him but Hashirama had meant it when he’d put him down. Madara was torn between regret and anticipation. They were both equally impatient men – they didn’t play games around what they wanted. It was exquisite torture to watch and not touch.

“It’s the truth,” he sighed. His hand flexed and was pulled deeper into the dirt. Madara hoped that he’d find bruises later. Hashirama’s gentle nature didn’t always play to his tastes. This was a rare treat.

Hashirama considered leaning into the argument, but it really wasn’t the time for that. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the peach tree and Hashirama listened for a long moment before a rare smirk sprawled across his lips.

“You’re incorrigible. Whatever shall I do with you?” While he spoke, Hashirama moved himself further down. Straddling his husband was all well and good, but he wanted to touch him, now that he was prone and at his disposal. And really, why shouldn’t he? 

He moved to the side, relieving Madara of the weight but still keeping him firmly in place with the vines. Hashirama’s hair fell past his face, slipped over his shoulder when he leaned over Madara’s cock, lips hovering before the tip as he took his husband into hand.

“I don’t like hurting you,” he squeezed, hard, “but if you insist.”

Madara briefly mourned the loss of Hashirama on top of him. But not for long – he closed his eyes and shuddered as he was gripped tight. It was firm enough to hurt and he squirmed, panting, unable to get a deep breath in around the vines. “Harder,” he groaned, digging his heels into the grass.

Madara had always liked Hashirama like this. Perhaps if someone took his history and studied it, they’d see that it was when they began fighting that his interest in him moved on from innocent passion to something cruder. Hashirama could do it, he knew he could… the only tricky part was convincing him to see it his way.

“Hashirama… my neck.” It wasn’t easy to look down with the vine in the way. “Want your hand.”

Hashirama was fluent in ignoring Madara’s absurd requests. Why did it always have to boil down to something that would inflict pain upon him? 

He did not do him the favour, instead letting his hand stroke slowly down Madara’s cock. This was all for a purpose, and not just their pleasure. He was pretty sure Madara had already put it out of his mind, but Hashirama and the peach tree were both sure to remember.

“Then I will have to distract you,” Hashirama bent down further, lips parting for Madara’s cock. He’d done this many, many times before, but today, it would lead to something extraordinary. All he needed Madara to do is to relax and surrender himself entirely to Hashirama’s whims.

“Don’t be stingy –” Madara moaned, about to protest, but the wet heat around his cock made him quiet down. He could continue to raise a fuss, sure, but did he want to? Did he really, really want to? 

Hashirama got to sucking. Madara decided that that could be a conversation for later. Consider him thoroughly distracted.

“You’re not… getting away… with that,” he muttered, blearily looking up at the sky. This grove was too open for his liking, but it really was beautiful – until something tickled his nose. He blinked and realized that Hashirama’s tree was…

“Really?” he scowled. The branches were curled around them like grasping hands. Madara didn’t like how they stretched towards him, not when he knew about Hashirama’s scheme. 

Hashirama wanted to tell Madara to ignore the creeping, wooden limbs, but his mouth was currently very occupied. The peach tree wasn’t at all inclined to back away, though it did stop touching Madara’s body once Hashirama gave it an impatient wave to mind its own business.

In order to distract Madara appropriately, Hashirama swallowed him down with every bit of eagerness he could muster. If this didn’t take his mind away from, well, everything, then Hashirama would have to seriously reconsider his life choices.

The vine around Madara’s neck sprouted small branches, thick leaves unfurling to obscure Madara’s eyes, nose, then his entire face. 

After all, if he saw what would happen to him soon, he might think to protest again.

Darkness enveloped Madara’s world. He spasmed once, struck by instinct, but slowly relaxed as his hindbrain recognized the lack of danger. Without his eyes to distract him, Madara focused entirely on Hashirama.

It’d been a while since they touched each other like this. They were both so busy that the time to roll around just didn’t exist anymore. As Hashirama swallowed down, the last bit of resistance in Madara dribbled out of his skull. His moan was a little muffled but still loud, throaty, and drawn out. His hips jerked in their restraints, trying to drive himself deeper into his throat.

He was close. Madara finally tore one hand free from the vines and touched the back of Hashirama’s head, pulling his fingers through his hair.

Finally, Madara was done with his resistance. Not that Hashirama didn’t appreciate the challenge and fight that was ever-present in his husband, but today, he had a purpose for their debauchery.

Madara was close. That was easy to tell, even if Hashirama didn’t have half a lifetime of experience with him. As soon as he went a little too rigid, Hashirama pulled away. Instead of his warm mouth, something else wrapped around Madara’s cock. Equally soft, equally alive, but without any of the heat. Around the flower, Hashirama held his hand steady, moved his mouth down to his husband’s balls, so that the rapid change wouldn’t leave Madara unstimulated.

The surprise of… whatever was going on down there was enough to push him over the edge. Madara let out a muffled yell as he came, biting clean through the leaves near his mouth, and tore his leg free. He didn’t fight any more than that though – he hadn’t forgotten his promise to Hashirama before all this – but it was just so hard to stay still when your body was being freely touched by things you couldn’t see.

He made an undignified noise when he felt the thing move. It was on the edge of being too much, friction on his over-sensitized nerves, and he jerked to the side, trying to pull away.

“Hashirama,” he muttered hoarsely, “is this – is your experiment… done?”

“Yeah,” Hashirama sat back, tugged on the vine attached to the flower, which had grown…fuller, sealing its petals together when it detached from Madara’s cock. 

As much as Hashirama adored Madara and was easily coerced into sex at nearly any given time of the day, right now, he was too excited to not pay attention to his experiment. A flick of his hand released Madara from the vines and leaves.

“Thank you. That wasn’t hard, was it?”

The peach tree curled the flower back to the thick branch, where it immediately began to sprout a cradle, padded with leaves beneath it.

Madara sat up. He was naked, with faint red lines all over his body from the vines, and his hair was full of dirt and leaves. He stared at the tree, at the… thing?… it was making and somehow felt a little dirty.

It wasn’t even the strangest thing they’d done together. Madara could easily count off five different occasions where they both lost their dignities in the name of sexual gratification. But this was different, mostly because he’d never had a fucking flower finish him off. It’d been soft. It’d moved. Sucked. Sucked!

He buried his face in his hands. Married life was turning him into a deviant.

“This better work.”

“It’s already working.”

Hashirama could see the tree pump its chakra towards the cradle, and the flower was proceeding with a rapid transformation. Its petals, wrapped together tightly, dulled in color, losing the soft pink and white and becoming wooden instead. Then, next, the shape changed. Rounder, bigger, like a carving of a peach with indistinguishable, seamless markings, like small printed runes. 

This thickened, wooden bundle rested in the cradle now, and the tree stilled.

“Now all we have to do is wait.”

Hashirama was far too invested to leave the tree alone even for an instant, and if need be, he’d hold vigil here for two days and nights.

“You don’t need to stay with me, but I’d like you to.”

Madara picked up his mantle and slowly pulled it on while eyeing the transformation. “Will something else happen?” he asked as he settled down next to Hashirama. Despite his reservations, he was reluctantly fascinated. This was unprecedented. A child created using chakra? If he could pull this off… it’d be a medical miracle.

“How long will it take?”

“A day. Two. Maybe more. The most I’ve managed to create so far is a cat.” Hashirama knew there was no sense in watching the process, it wouldn’t speed it up at all, but he really couldn’t tear his eyes away.

If this _worked_?

Giddiness had him smile, reach for Madara’s hand and bring it to his lips for a kiss.

“I’ve become greedy with my dreams, haven’t I?”

“We’ve both become greedy men,” Madara replied. His skepticism softened at Hashirama’s obvious excitement. “I think we deserve it.”

He squeezed his hand and sat a while, basking in the moment. But not for long. He pulled him into a kiss, interested in picking up where they left off and got somewhere for a little bit. But he was too distracted by his experiment to pay proper attention. Exasperated, Madara left him to it.

“I’m going to check in on the office,” he said, standing up. He kissed Hashirama’s temple. “You know where I’ll be if you need me.”

While it was all good to fool around with Hashirama, he had his own plans for his day off. Let him stare at his tree if it made him so happy. Madara had books to read.


End file.
